Hold
by DrifterAndGyspy
Summary: Daryl visits his father one last time after years apart, while Carol helps him maintain his hold on their new life. AU, no walkers.


**Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead.**

Daryl sat at the kitchen table reading a letter that seemed to have come from different life. He never thought that he could have the life that he had now, but now that he had it, he couldn't imagine it any other way. He looked up at Carol and watched as she smiled and chatted on the phone while she washed the dishes, her large pregnant belly getting slightly wet as the water splashed. They had been married for just over a year and were living in a small cottage surrounded by forest, awaiting the arrival of their first baby. Sitting in that cottage, listening to Carol laugh as she talked to her friend Lori, all while holding this letter in his calloused hands—it felt unreal.

Carol glanced at him over her shoulder and noticed a dark expression cross him face. "Hey, Lori, I've got to get goin'. We still on for dinner tomorrow night?" Lori confirmed their plans and the two friends exchanged goodbyes and hung up. Carol wipe her hands off on the dish towel and walked over to the table, leaning down to kiss the top of Daryl's head.

"You okay?" she asked softly, knowing that even after all this time she still needed to be careful with him when he got that look in his eye. She knew he wouldn't bolt like he did when they first met, but she still worried when he became distance.

"Hmm?" he seemed surprised that she was so close. "Uh… yeah… uh, I mean—here, you can read it." He handed her a letter that he had been reading.

Her brow furrowed as she took the letter unsure what could cause him so much distress. As she started to read, her brow becoming more furrowed and her mouth forming a slight "O" shape, she felt stupid for not immediately guessing this. But how could she have guessed something like this?

"Oh, Daryl," she said quietly, wrapping her arms around him as she sat in his lap. He hesitated for a moment—something he hadn't done in a years—before he wrapped his arms around his wife. She held him tight—Daryl never thought he could find as much comfort in someone holding him as he did with Carol.

"What am I goin' ta do, Carol?" he said into her neck. "Why does he want me ta see 'im?" Carol pulled away from him to look at his face, confusion and anger were written clearly all over it, along with the smallest bit of something that she knew after years of loving him to be fear. "I mean—I get why he wants to see me, he's dyin' and that's what dyin' people do, ain't it? But _why_ does he want to see me?"

"I don't know, baby, I don't know," Carol whispered pushing the hair off of his face. She leaned her forehead against his temple. "Do you think he wrote Merle too?"

Daryl scoffed, "No use, Merle wouldn't go."

"Hey," she said quietly, pulling his chin so he was looking at her, "You don't need to decide whether you're goin' to go now. You can sleep on it for a few days."

"He's my father, Carol. He's the meanest son of a bitch I ever met, but he's blood. I need ta go."

"I know," she whispered holding him close. She held him tight, needing him to know that he was not alone. Refusing to allow him to pull away, to withdraw from her and the life they built together. "You're such a good man," she whispered fiercely, "Don't let him make you think otherwise. You're the best man I've ever known. I love you so much." She shed a few stray tears for her husband's tortured past.

"I love ya too," he said pulling her as close as her pregnant belly would allow.

That night Carol woke up well before the sun rose, Daryl was still fast asleep. It was rare that she woke up before her husband, but whenever she did she always took a moment to watch him sleep. When the first got together she watched him because it was the only time that she could see him with his guard down. She knew that there were things about himself and his past he wanted to keep from her. Those things were written across his back and chest—each pink, faded angry scar telling the story of a time Daryl wanted to keep separate from her. They had been together for months before she finally saw him without his shirt on in the light.

Daryl was sleeping on his side next to her, giving her a plain view of all of the scars he had to endure. She raised a finger and softly traced one of the particularly deep and long scars. She hated to think of what the story behind this scar was. She placed a soft kiss where it ended just below his shoulder. She wrapped her arm around his torso and held him in a way that he didn't usually allow her to if he was awake.

Daryl finally woke just after sunrise, finding Carol awake with her arm holding him firmly from behind him. He placed his hand over hers. "Hey," he said with a voice gravelly from sleep.

"Hey yourself," she said, kissing the back of his neck.

"You okay?" he asked. He felt her nod against his back. He knew that she was worried about him and what the letter would mean. "I'm gonna make some breakfast. You want eggs?" he got of bed.

"Sure," she said as he leaned down to give her a kiss, "I'll be there in a minute."

Daryl went to the kitchen and started to make breakfast, all the while trying to ignore the letter that sat on the kitchen table. Sleeping on the issue didn't give him much more clarity. He still had no idea why his father would want to see him or what would come of that visit. However he knew that he would visit his father. Daryl had his code, and despite all the terrible things that Will Dixon did he was his father. He couldn't turn his back on that. Daryl looked at his work schedule and saw that he had two days off coming up later in the week and started to plan his trip. He and Carol lived a bit more than two hours away from where he grew up and the hospital where his father was a patient.

As Daryl and Carol sat down with their breakfast, he turned to her and said "I'm gonna drive up to see him on Friday. I got Friday and Saturday off, but I should be back Friday night."

"I'm comin' with you," she told him firmly.

"Nah, Carol," he sighed heavily; he had foreseen this coming up. "You should just stay here."

"Daryl, I want to be there for you," she spoke slowly, hoping he would understand her intentions.

He did, of course. He knew that Carol had her own demons that haunted her from the past. Daryl and Carol found comfort in their similarly damaged pasts. They helped each other grow and move on from their pasts. His life now made his childhood seem impossible. He had friends; he had people that counted on him, and people that he had learned to count on. He had Carol and soon they would have a baby. There was certainly a learning curve, but Daryl had slowly learned to trust people. He knew now that he couldn't get by without people, as he had tried to do when he was younger. He needed Carol. She changed everything for him, and he somehow did the same for her.

"We're leaving early," he told her gruffly.

Friday morning found Daryl and Carol sitting under the flickering florescent light in the family waiting room of the oncology unit where Daryl's father was a patient. Daryl sat stiffly in the plastic chairs while Carol held his hand in her lap. She knew that there was little that she could do to alleviate his tension, but still she firmly held his hand in hers in hopes of anchoring him to the life that they had now. Anchoring him to the happiness that they had found.

A petite nurse with a perky ponytail and light blue scrubs pranced into the doorway of the waiting room. "Mr. Dixon?" she asked in a kind voice.

"Yeah, that's me," Daryl said, standing pulling his and Carol's hand out of her lap.

"You're father's ready to see you now," she smiled warmly, "You can just follow me."

She led them down a long, anti-septic smelling hallway. She smiled at Carol. "Do you know what you're having?" she asked in a tone that felt overly familiar while indicating to her belly.

"Oh," Carol smiled softly, placing a hand over her bump, "We're having a girl." She gave Daryl's hand a firm squeeze.

"Little girls are always so sweet!" the nurse exclaimed quietly, careful not to disturb the patients. "Is your first?" she directed the question at both Carol and Daryl.

"First for both of us," Carol said, knowing Daryl was not much for small talk on the best of situation, now he would just want to be silent.

"Well, best of luck!" she said charmingly before knocking on a door and poking her head in "Mr. Dixon? Your family is here to see you."

Daryl and Carol heard grumbling words that were partially drowned out by various beeps that were coming from inside the room. The nurse looked back at the pair and held the door open for them. "If you need anything, you can buzz me in." Daryl nodded his head at her while Carol thanked her, and then followed closely behind her husband into the dimly lit room.

The man lying in the bed looked far older than his age. He had sparse hair, but what he had was nearly white. His skin had taken a gray hue; so different from the sunburnt and tanned skin that Daryl was used to seeing. He had thick eyeglasses balancing precariously on the end of his nose; the glasses magnified his half-opened eyes to an almost cartoonish extent. Daryl had to look down at his feet as he saw IVs with clear liquid going into his father. He had wires that connected him to various machines and a cannula to assist his breathing. His once intimidatingly muscular body was now emaciated. His breathing coming out roughly, sounding almost like gasps. He was looked so unimaginably weak. He looked nothing like the man that Daryl spent his most of his life running from.

"Daryl," called the man in the bed, his voice gravely.

"Hey dad," Daryl replied walking closer to the bed, Carol following him more slowly. Will Dixon's eyes landed on her.

"Who's this?" he asked.

"This is Carol," Daryl paused, as if unsure whether further introductions were necessary. "My wife."

Will let out what appeared to be a chuckle. "Yeah, I heard that ya got hitched. And ya got a baby on the way?"

"Yeah, Carol's having a baby," Daryl said stiffly.

"That's real nice... real nice," Will said softly, in an earnest tone. "Well, y'all don' need ta be standin'. Take a seat." He gestured to the two chairs by his bed.

Daryl took the seat closer to the head.

"How're you doin'?" Will asked his son.

"'M fine," Daryl said his eyes still unable to meet his father's.

"You talk to yer brother much?"

"Yeah, Merle and I talk a lot," he replied. "We work together sometimes."

"Oh, yeah?" Will asked sound exhausted. "That's good."

"Yeah, he's doin' real good." Daryl didn't usually offer up so much information when it came to simple questions like the one his father had asked, but he need the man to know that both he and his brother were fine. He was unsure if he told him as a reassurance or as a small act of rebellion.

There was a quiet that fell over the room. Daryl didn't know what to say to the man. He hadn't seen him in almost fifteen years. He felt uncomfortable with how much had changed in his father. Daryl wondered if Will felt the same about him. The man lying in the bed in front of him felt like a stranger. They sat quietly in the hospital room, waiting for a topic to fall upon them as the television played the news softly adding ambient noise.

"You got much mornin' sickness?" Will asked Carol.

She was surprised by the question. "A bit at the beginning, it's not so bad anymore though," she replied.

"When Daryl's momma was pregnant with 'im she was sick all the damn time," he paused, coughing dryly, "Poor thing…"

"She had hyperemesis," Daryl said suddenly.

"How'd ya know that?" his father asked, while Carol looked at him curiously.

"Merle told me one time that she was sick all the time when she was pregnant with me," he said, quieter than before. "I read about it in one of the books we got. You ain't supposed to have mornin' sickness that bad that late."

There was another moment where silence fell over the room—which was fine by Daryl. He didn't want to talk about his momma, not with him. He and Merle weren't the only people that underwent his father's abuse. Daryl didn't remember a whole lot about his momma, but from what he did remember he knew that she didn't deserve to be stuck with a man like his father. He felt a bitterness rise inside of him that usually only occurred when he thought of his mother. He ran his hand down his face, rubbing roughly against the stubble that was growing on his chin and sighed. He felt Carol eyeing him carefully.

"How long ya been in here?" Daryl finally asked, after collecting himself a bit.

"'Bout three weeks," his father told him. "Been in and out for the past six months or so."

"It bad?" Daryl asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

"Wouldn't ta written if it wasn't," was the simple reply. "Livin' on borrowed time now, as far as I understand it."

Daryl would be lying if he had said that he hadn't spent a large portion of his adolescents imagining that his father was dead. But now that the event was so close he didn't know how to react. He sat uncomfortably in the chair. Carol's hand founds its way into his lap and held his. He instantly felt a bit better. Carol's touch acting as a balm for the hurt that he never wanted to admit that he had.

Time ticked by slowly as they waited for someone to talk next. Daryl had certainly inherited his talkative nature from his father. Both men seemed content to sit in silence ad nauseum. Carol, however, grew uneasy. She knew that one of them would have to break to speak. She excused herself to get a cup of tea, hoping that they would start talking again with her gone, but when she returned nearly a half hour later, they sat remained in their tense silence. So much between them that needed to be said, but both refusing to say a word, until finally Will asked: "Y'all got a name picked out fer the baby?"

Daryl looked at Carol, she gave him a questioning look to which he gave her a curt nod. "We're having a baby girl," she told Will, "We're gonna name her Sophia."

"After yer momma?" Will asked. Daryl nodded and Will closed his eyes for a moment. "That's real nice. She woulda liked that."

"Why did ya ask me to come here?" Daryl asked suddenly, clearly emotionally exhausted.

"Well, damn, son—why do you think?" Daryl stared blankly at the older man. "I wanted to tell ya that I'm sorry."

"Yer… what?" Daryl was flabbergasted never having imagined to hear those words from his father.

"I'm no fool enough to think that I'll ever see ya again—after I leave here. You an' me ain't goin' ta the same place when we die, boy," he laughed acerbically. "I ain't a good man, Daryl, I know that. I was a shit daddy ta you and yer brother, and a worse husband ta yer momma. Men like me don't get ta rest with people like you or yer momma. So, I need to tell ya now. I'm sorry fer all that I put ya through. There ain't nothin' I can do now to make it better, I know that. But I need ya ta know that I'm sorry few what I did."

Daryl stared at the quilt that covered his father for a few long moments, choosing his next words carefully. Carol's hand slipped back in his, knowing that he needed the support. "I can't forgive ya, not now," he said quietly, "I don't. I still hate you sometimes fer what ya did."

Will didn't say anything, he merely nodded. He knew that forgiveness was asking too much. He hadn't expected it. For the past six months he had been given ample time to reflect on how he raised his sons and how he treated his wife. He knew that forgiveness was more than he deserved, but he needed to apologize. He couldn't leave this earth without doing it.

"I need ya ta know somethin' though," Daryl said, his voice suddenly strong and clear, his eyes meeting his fathers'. Carol was almost alarmed by the tone that he took, so different from how he had been since they left their home this morning. "I'm not like you. I'm a good husband, and I'm gonna be a good daddy. I ain't sayin' that I do everything right, but I love Carol and I'm gonna love our baby. Imma do right by them. I ain't ever gonna hurt them. You best believe that."

Will took in his youngest son. He didn't know what he had done, but the man that stood before him was a better man than he could ever have dreamt to be. He knew that he had little to do with that, but still felt proud to be able to call this man his kin.

"I know that," Will said, "Yer a good man, Daryl."

Carol felt Daryl squeeze her hand tighter than he had before and knew that this was moment was the reason that he needed her there. She squeezed back as tightly as she could, holding him tight. Daryl nodded stiffly at his father, trying to hide his sniffling with forced coughs.

"I reckon we ought ta get goin'," Daryl said gesturing vaguely towards the door.

"I understand," Will said, clearly relieved to have an excuse from the emotionality of the situation. "Thanks fer comin' up here."

"We're blood," Daryl said plainly, "It's what you do."

Three days later Daryl was woken at four in the morning by the phone on his bedside table ringing. He knew what the call was regarding before he answered. He had been expecting it since they left the hospital. Carol seemed to understand exactly what was going as well, she was sitting up alert, waiting for him to answer the phone. "Hello?"

"Is this Daryl Dixon?" a tired sounding voice asked on the other side of the phone.

"Yeah, this is," Daryl responded, his voice scratchy.

The man introduced himself as Will Dixon's doctor. "Mr. Dixon, I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but as you know you're father's condition has been worsening in the past few weeks, and in the past several days especially. I'm incredibly sorry, Mr. Dixon—"

"He's gone?" Daryl asked in a quiet tone.

"We did all we could do. Your father was being cared for by some of the greatest physicians and nurses that I have had the privilege—"

"Yeah," Daryl sputtered out. "Thanks for callin'." He robotically hung up the phone, the doctor still talking as he did so. He knew that he would call back again. What he had to say didn't really matter at this point. He leaned his elbows against his knees, his head hanging below his shoulders.

Carol rested her forehead against his shoulder, rubbing his back. "Why am I fuckin' sad right now? After all he did, why am I so God damn sad?" he asked to no one in particular.

"He was your father, no matter what he was your family, and that means something to you," she told him. "That's what makes you better than most."

He didn't say anything, he just let Carol hold him as he thought about Will Dixon. About their last conversation. About his childhood with him. About how he wished things had been different. About who he wished his father was. He knew that he could never change his past; he could never change his family, no matter how much wishing and praying he did. Daryl grew annoyed with himself that even now—as a grown man with a wife and a baby on the way—he wished things could be different.

Carol held him tightly, refusing to let him slip away into the darkness of his past. As Daryl placed his hand over both of hers, which were clasped together on his chest, he knew he was far from okay; he was far from moving beyond his past, but he was never closer to it than when he had the love of the woman refusing to let go of him.

**I hope you all liked it! This is my first time publish a story so please let me know what you think. Also, thank you to rabbitheartedgirl88 for helping me get the nerve to actual post this story.**


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